


Deliberation

by BazinMousqueton



Series: The Body and the Battle [11]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: (Aramis requests it this time), Comfort Sex, Episode Related, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Foreplay, Frottage, M/M, Pining, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Spoilers through to 1x10
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-06
Updated: 2016-11-06
Packaged: 2018-08-29 08:16:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8482219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BazinMousqueton/pseuds/BazinMousqueton
Summary: In which Aramis and Porthos have had enough of their conspiracy, Aramis wants to take it slow and gentle, and Athos makes Porthos a promise.Or: Aramis and Porthos have comfort sex and worry about Athos, and we know something they don't.The fics in this series are chronological but standalone -- there's no need to read the earlier ones to enjoy this.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Set during 1x10 (Musketeers Don't Die Easily).

Aramis, in shirt and breeches, spread himself across the bed, watching Porthos unbutton his doublet. He tried to relax; to forget the shooting they'd staged and the conversation Porthos had just reported. He couldn't spend all night obsessing about it.

"Can we take this slowly?" Aramis asked. "I..."

He trailed off, fidgeting with his shirt's laces. Porthos cocked his head in query. Aramis looked away.

"I want to spend as long as possible not thinking about the shit that's going on," Aramis said. Seeing Athos in the square had nearly broken him. He'd been grateful when Porthos had volunteered to take Athos home. 

Grateful, and guilty.

He'd been prepared for Athos's feigned hatred of d'Artagnan; prepared for the fight; even prepared to leave an injured d'Artagnan behind. But, nothing could have prepared him for Athos's reaction to being close to _his wife_ \-- hatred and desire and corrosive self-loathing, forced to the surface by the alcohol and the smell of her hair.

 _His wife._ Athos had a wife. And the marriage had shattered both of them. Had left them in badly-put-together shards, jagged and razor-edged.

And Aramis hadn't known.

"Hey," Porthos said. He saw too much. He always had. The mattress dipped as he sat and took Aramis's hand. "Easy." He planted a kiss in Aramis's palm. "We can go slow. I need a break from all our crap too." 

Aramis curled his hand around Porthos's jaw, enjoying the soft scrape of his beard. 

"I want us to be kind to one another," Aramis said. He'd been watching the people he loved tearing each other apart for what felt like forever. Constance and d'Artagnan. Athos and _his wife._ Now Athos and d'Artagnan; Treville and d'Artagnan. It might be play-acting, but it _hurt_. He couldn't cope if he and Porthos were anything other than compassionate.

And _kind_ would allow him to use touch to express the love he didn't dare speak. Glorifying each other's bodies was allowed. They'd always done that.

"Kind," Porthos said, chuckling. "That's not your normal kink." Aramis tweaked his ear, hard. Porthos swatted his hand away. "I reckon I can do that," Porthos said. "Can you?"

"I'll have you know I have a reputation for being a gentle and considerate lover," Aramis said, mock-offended.

Porthos stood, took off his doublet, and hung it on the door handle. "You've got a reputation for a lot of things. Don't think I didn't see the look in the Duke de Chevreuse's eye when he saw you flourishing your riding crop the other week." Porthos stepped out of his boots and stripped off his trousers and stockings. Aramis's breath caught. Half-naked Porthos: his second-favourite sight. Only naked Porthos was better. 

"First time you've ever used a crop on your charger," Porthos said.

Aramis shifted onto his side to make space for Porthos. Porthos slid in next to him.

"I didn't actually hit the horse," Aramis said, running his hand across Porthos's chest. "He doesn't respond well to being chastised. Unlike the Duke." 

He pushed Porthos onto his back and bent to kiss him. Their lips touched softly. Aramis flicked his tongue along Porthos's top lip, tasting salt and beer. He ran his left hand through the wiry curls of Porthos's hair, round the curve of his ear, and down his neck. Porthos shivered. Aramis's fingers moved lightly over Porthos's shoulder, pushing his shirt aside to feel firm muscle under perfect skin. He brushed across Porthos's chest. Dark hairs abraded his fingertips deliciously after the smoothness of the shoulder.

"You are flawless, my friend," Aramis said. "I could spend an eternity touching you."

He leant across to kiss the shoulder, nipping with his teeth. Porthos arched. Aramis swarmed over him, pressing body to body before flexing his elbows to rise on hands and knees above Porthos.

Porthos grabbed Aramis's ass to pull him close, then sighed and let go.

"Slow," he said. 

"Mmm-hmm." Aramis ran kisses across Porthos's chest, on top of his shirt. He stopped when he reached Porthos's left nipple, licked a circle, and sucked. The familiar flavour of sweat and leather filled his mouth. The weave of the linen added an edge of friction. Porthos gasped. Aramis sucked harder, teasing with his tongue. 

"That shouldn't feel so good," Porthos said, his voice already lower than usual.

Porthos trailed his fingers down Aramis's back, tracing a meandering pattern. Aramis curved into the touch. Porthos reached the hem of Aramis's shirt and flicked it up. He stroked the small of Aramis's back, warm fingertips ghosting along the waistband of Aramis's linens and sending tingles up Aramis's spine. Aramis savoured the feeling. Porthos slowed, his touch confident, hitting all the right places. Aramis hummed his pleasure and tilted his hips. His cock -- beginning to thicken -- grazed against Porthos's.

"Athos said he'd come to us?" Aramis asked, the words slipping out, far too needy. "One day, after all this is over?"

Porthos's fingers stuttered to a standstill. "It was late. He was drunk. He didn't promise."

"But if he--"

"Aramis. We weren't gonna talk about this."

Aramis bit his lip. Porthos was right. Aramis dipped to kiss the curve of his neck and pecked a line of kisses down Porthos's front, slowing as he reached Porthos's bellybutton and his tented erection. He rubbed his cheek against Porthos's cock, through two layers of linen. Porthos panted. Heat spread through Aramis. He hooked his thumbs under Porthos's shirt. Porthos half-sat, his abdominals tensing, the movement perfectly controlled. Aramis tore off Porthos's shirt, then his own. He flattened himself against Porthos, moaning at the sensation of bare skin against bare skin, grinding into him, both of them straining against their linens.

Porthos, breathing heavily, dug his fingers into Aramis's hips and held him still. "Whoa, Aramis." Porthos swallowed. His voice was deep and gravelly. "You can't tell me to go slow and then do _that_."

Aramis twisted away. "Ah, yes." He flopped down on his side next to Porthos. His heart pounded. "Slow. I remember."

Porthos smiled across at him, all dimples and delight. Aramis couldn't stop himself tracing Porthos's mouth with his thumb, running its pad across Porthos's bottom lip. Porthos parted his lips and drew Aramis's thumb into his mouth, sending a spike of arousal through Aramis. Porthos spiralled his tongue and sucked. The delicate pressure and warm wetness felt incredible. Aramis relaxed into it, shutting his eyes and losing himself to the sensation. 

His pulse fluttered in his neck. His cock throbbed. He imagined Porthos's lips on it, Porthos's tongue marking out a helix up the length of Aramis's shaft. 

He was close to coming.

"You, Porthos," Aramis said, between shuddering breaths, wrestling to get himself under control, "you are incredible."

He raked the nails of his free hand down Porthos's biceps and followed with his mouth, lapping and nibbling. Porthos groaned, letting Aramis's thumb slip free. Aramis whimpered, bereft, and slid down to the foot of the bed. He nudged Porthos's legs apart, positioned himself between them and kissed his way up Porthos's inner thigh, mouth scuffing against linen again. The fabric stretched taut over Porthos's cock.

Porthos reached for his laces. "Can I get rid of these?" he asked. 

"Oh, yes," Aramis said, barely waiting for him to untie the bow and lift his hips before yanking the linens down. He scrabbled at his own underwear, pushing it off clumsily. 

Porthos laughed. "Are we done being slow?"

Aramis reached for his final shred of willpower to stop himself diving onto Porthos. "Further delay would hardly be kind," he said, his voice ragged.

Porthos growled and surged up. His arms encircled Aramis, turned him, and pressed him down into the mattress. Porthos rutted into him, his cock hot against Aramis's. Aramis spread his legs and wrapped them tightly around Porthos's waist. They moved together. Aramis lost track of time. Heat flickered in his groin and radiated through his body. A wave of pure pleasure followed. He rocked against Porthos, moaning as his orgasm took hold.

Porthos, eyes screwed shut, repeated Aramis's name as he came. 

Their spend mixed and pooled on Aramis's stomach. 

Porthos collapsed, taking care to support his weight on his forearms. Aramis sprawled, sated. They breathed in sync, the outside world forgotten, and fell asleep entwined with one another.

# # #

The memory of Athos came crashing back when they woke.

"Tell me again," Aramis said. "Every gesture. His exact words."

Porthos sighed and rolled onto his back.

"I'd dragged him home. Carried him up to his apartments. He woke up enough to undress himself." Porthos gave a wry smile. "I didn't peek. Always the gentleman, me. Went and drew some water. Time I got back he was sitting up in bed. Knees to his chest, head bowed, locket pressed to his lips."

"Has he ever shown you what's in that locket?"

Porthos shook his head. "I thought he was going to. He held it out. Then closed his fist around it. Shit, Aramis. His face. His eyes." Porthos's voice rasped. Aramis squeezed Porthos's hand. Porthos took a deep breath. "I asked him if he'd be alright on his own. If he wanted me to stay."

"Were you standing? Sitting on the bed?"

"Kneeling next to the bed." 

_Of course Porthos was kneeling._ Aramis could picture the look on his face; the desperate need to keep his brothers safe.

"And he said...?"

" _'I am not free of her.'_ "

"Looking at you?"

"Turned away. Then he looked over his shoulder, straight into my eyes. He held out the locket. _'She has chained me,'_ he said. _'I will come to you if I break loose. To both of you.'_ "

Aramis leaned in, wanting more. Porthos shrugged. "That's it. That's all he said."

"Emphasis on the _if_?"

"Emphasis on the _will_. And the _both_."

"It is a promise," Aramis said. "Isn't it?"

"He never takes the locket off." Porthos spoke softly. Despite his words, his eyes held a glimmer of hope. 

Aramis kissed him, gathering that hope and sealing it in his heart.

**Author's Note:**

> OT3 coming! I'm writing an epilogue to series 1 where Athos keeps his promise.


End file.
